Teenage Turbulence...

I was at work in the office just the other day, and my mobile 'phone rang...

I hate my mobile going off at work. We have a very open plan environment and everyone gets to hear your business, whether you like it or not.

I always get that deadly slump in my stomach, like when you contemplate that it might be bad news.

I scurried to an empty conference room to take the call, realising that it was Grizz, hopefully giving me news of how his last exam had gone.

"Mum, Mum! I'm ringing to remind you that last night you promised me, remember, that you'd be able to go and buy my tickets for Turbulence tonight?

(Turbulence being some kind of music club venue popular with The Young Ones).

My son knows me very well. I had, of course, completely forgotten, my promises made in wine, and I'd already taken my woefully short lunch break.

Clearing it with my boss, I scuttled out of the office into the city streets and the day's sunshiny warmth. I walked, in new, crippling sandals, the half a mile or so to where I thought the little indie record store was where I could pur-chase said tickets.

The record store was closed, boarded up windows festooned with makeshift signs declaring that it was closed, to re-open soon in a new location. I slip-slopped off, following the map to the new site. I read the sign saying they would be open 1st September...

Damn and Blast. Thwarted. Those were the names of the other reindeers that got away from Santa's sleigh, did you know? Mrs Claus must have had teenagers to torment the living daylights out of the elves...

By now I was sweating - Never a good look for the over-forty, Rubenesque, (Ahem!) female.

I propositioned a nice young man, who looked like he might be one of those world-weary older Teens that haunt Turbulence after dark...

With a mouth full of coronation chicken wrap he pointed blithely up the road that I'd just walked from. I re-traced my steps gingerly, my feet sticking to the glossy new leather... I found two young men emptying the boarded up shop of leftover stock, arguing about how to get their car backed in to the tiny space available, so they could fill the hatchback with their booty.

I asked them if I could still buy tickets... The more authoritative one, directing the driver, looked aghast. "We'll never find them in there!", he said, pointing at disorganised chaos within.

"Where else can I get them then?" I wondered... I must have looked desperate as the Teen driving the car slowly wound down the window. "Breakdown Records", he opined, pointing at the neighbouring street, at a tiny window, three solid Georgian storeys up in the air, next to the Sandwich Shop...

I trotted off, passing the young man who had turned his attention to his sandwich again. He regarded me curiously... I mounted the calf-breakingly steep and narrow stairs at Breakdown Records, wondering if that was my destination too - A breakdown?!

After being observed like some alien life form by the Beautiful Youthful Things within, I was handed two Turbulence tickets by one of that night's DJs, moonlighting by day as a mild-mannered record store assistant...

With that look on his face, I think he was wondering exactly how he'd managed to attract such an older crowd with his dazzling new Drum 'n' Bass set. I was chuckling to myself as I waddled back to work with my prize.

My boss said that I should have let slip that the tickets were for my mother!

The things we do for the love of Teens, and the avoidance of Teen Turbulence!